Oh no

Erik Austin
May 15
1 min read

Honestly? I don’t even know where to begin. The show opens tomorrow—yes, as in in a few hours—and it is... not ready. Like, “we-might-as-well-just-call-it-a-rehearsed-improv-experiment” not ready.

I’ve been at the theater all day, rearranging, re-suggesting, re-trying to fix things, and it’s like every piece of advice I’ve offered—like the very thoughtful, specific, not-at-all-dramatic email I sent about the set changes—was tossed straight into a black hole. Poof. Gone. Vanished. Ignored. I’m basically just yelling into the void now, hoping the void at least has decent acoustics.

And it’s not just me. A bunch of us—especially the leads—are tired, frustrated, borderline delirious, and frankly over it. We’ve worked our hearts out, poured everything into this show, and now we’re watching it wobble like a set piece with no bracing.

And as if that wasn’t enough to spike my cortisol, my family is coming tomorrow. Yep. They’re driving all this way to see a show that currently feels like it's being held together with gaff tape, glitter, and sheer willpower. Ugh.

Right now, it’s less “let’s put on a show!” and more “how do we get through this without crying onstage or accidentally setting something on fire?” I want to be proud of this. I want this to be the magical Oz moment we dreamed about. But tonight? It’s feeling more like Kansas. In a tornado. With no dog.

Here’s hoping for a miracle. Or at the very least, a functioning scene change and a Xanax.